


there is a field beyond right and wrong

by chaoticsandstorm



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: "someone stop me from writing this" challenge, @ aros and aces: i gotchu babes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Azula is a disaster lesbian but that's neither here nor there, Families of Choice, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mostly Zuko POV, Nerd Azula (Avatar), Perfectionism, Prodigy Zuko (Avatar), Smart Azula (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar)-centric, also i acknowledge gay zuko but he's a bi king in my opinion, do you want:, gifted children issues, i love their sarcastic affection for Zuko so much, i went a la MuffinLance style and added sassy crew members for Zuko's ship, mostly Zuko centric but Azula does have a heavy storyline later in the fic, now with a spicy twist!, recovery from childhood trauma and abuse, slash lovely people if you don't like being called babe, the role reversal you never knew you needed, then come on in!, this fic will be pretty gen so enjoy fluffy friendship and found families!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29457408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticsandstorm/pseuds/chaoticsandstorm
Summary: "He isn’t their commander. Not really. He’s just the prince who was stupid enough to commit treason in front of the entire War Council, and now everyone is suffering for it."Azula isn't born as the prodigy. Zuko is. This changes their loyalties more than one would realise, and just might change the outcome of the war.
Relationships: Aang & Zuko (Avatar), Azula & Iroh (Avatar), Azula & Toph Beifong, Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Ozai & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Zuko
Comments: 95
Kudos: 262





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Zuko could live without the palace. He could live without the fancy food and clothes. He definitely doesn’t miss the training and the constantly strained muscles, because Teacher Jiang would never take no for an answer when Zuko said that the next set of katas were too advanced, that it would take too much from him. But he misses some things like an aching tooth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly i posted this by accident but i'm leaving it up anyway, whoops.  
> i'm starting in the middle of the action which could be a bit confusing, but trust that i'll explain soon. all you need to know right now is that this is NOT an age-swap or an "Azula is banished instead of Zuko" fic. all that i've changed is making Zuko be born the prodigy instead of Azula, and standing back to observe the ripple of change.  
> what would Ozai do with a daughter he can't exploit? what would he do with a son he CAN? would he still use Azula's mind and her cunning? would he neglect it? and what about Zuko - would he be groomed as the weapon instead of Azula, or would Zuko's personality ultimately still exclude him from Ozai's favour?  
> 

_"Beyond right and wrong there is a field._

_I will meet you there."_

_\- Rumi_

Zuko can’t remember the last time he wasn’t sunburned. It feels like a lifetime ago. Now he sweats underneath the burning sun, hauling ropes across deck.

It’s stupid. They’re on a _metal ship,_ they don’t need ropes. Anything that needs securing could just be welded to the floor. When he suggests this to Lieutenant Jee, the man treats him to such a withering gaze that Zuko gives up immediately. Part of surviving on the same cramped ship for two years is knowing when to quit. If Zuko continued pushing, he would lose his advantage from the incident with pai sho. Lieutenant Jee was playing against Uncle, who had paused for a tea break. Lieutenant Jee made desperate eye contact and silently conveyed that if Zuko helped him throw the game, then he would owe Zuko a favour. Any favour - _so long as it gets me away from this Agni-forsaken game, so help me spirits._

Zuko has no intention of using that favour today. Favours don’t come by easily on the ship and he would have to be a fool to throw his away so easily. It’s the only form of currency they actually have in abundance. As tempting as it is to get out of manual labour, Uncle has been talking about setting an example and leading from within. _Work_ with _your men. Not around them, Prince Zuko._

He doesn’t feel much like a prince these days. Sweaty, mostly. Or cold. It depends on which waters they’re sailing through. They once entered Water Tribe territory- or near to it- and Zuko honestly thought he would freeze to death before they could leave. One crewman took pity and helped bundle Zuko in a spare room with as many blankets as they could muster. Zuko spent the week alternating between shivering himself into probably the worst illness of his life, and standing on the railings declaring furiously that he was the absolute picture of health. The crewman tried coaxing him from the railings with offerings of food and blankets, circling his position like they were hunting penguin-seals and not trying to convince their teenage commander to step off the railings before he could fall deliriously into the water. Lieutenant Jee laughed himself into stitches when he saw, then rubbed his face and made Zuko swear solemnly never to do anything like that again. Zuko only repeated what he said on the railings - that he was the picture of Agni-damned health and Jee couldn’t do anything about it. He also said some other, ruder things that in hindsight Zuko should never repeat if he wants to keep his mouth soap-free. Cursing has always been allowed on the ship, tolerated by his long-suffering uncle. But it doesn’t mean that Iroh _approves_ of Zuko’s un-princely language.

“There are better ways for a young prince to express himself,” Iroh mentions whenever he overhears Zuko. “You must learn to control your language and your temperament. Only then can you control yourself.”

Zuko responded with even more cursing once Uncle was out of earshot. It felt petty and vindicative, but also secretly thrilling. Zuko was never allowed to swear in the palace. He was never allowed to do _anything._ Zuko’s role was to train himself into the ground and sit without speaking, like the extra in a play who never gets lines. Cursing feels good. Zuko nearly broke a plate in shock when he first heard the crew using that kind of language, but he quickly adjusted. They have rubbed off on him more than he would like to think. He once stubbed his toe in the middle of the night and caught himself the door to Agni and back. Maybe not a very princely act like Uncle wants, but Zuko doesn’t feel very much like a prince these days.

Sailing aimlessly for two years has been almost nice. If you could get stockholmed into liking _literal exile,_ then Zuko thinks it would have happened to him. There are no expectations on the ship beyond the basics - keep your quarters clean, do your own laundry unless you can wrangle a favour from someone in exchange for them doing it, and eat whatever is served because spirits know there is never enough money for food. Uncle tries sneaking his portions onto Zuko’s plate when he thinks Zuko won’t notice. As do the rest of the crew. Zuko protests that he has enough to eat already, thank you very much, but whenever that argument comes up all they have to do is look pointedly towards the budgeting board.

The budgeting board became A Thing, officially, after Zuko was tired of spreading his papers across his desk and squinting to read the small print. His eyes aren’t bad, exactly, but his left eye doesn’t open all the way anymore. If he doesn’t look at the writing from a particular angle then everything becomes a peripheral blur. Zuko swept up the papers and stormed into the mess hall, then pinned the whole damned lot to the- _very much solid, ship-holding metal Zuko, what were you THINKING-_ wall. The earliest risers of the crew only blinked at him then silently returned to their coffee, and Zuko finally had enough space to look at the numbers without feeling like they were crammed inside his head. Nothing is impossible for him. Only frustratingly difficult at times.

“Did that help?” Akane remarked sarcastically from the corner, because Akane has never passed up the chance to be an asshole in her life. She loves picking on what she sees as Zuko’s needless dramatics.

Zuko scowled and blustered his way through the interaction, but eventually admitted to Uncle that the wall really did help, _DON’T tell Akane._

Lieutenant Jee returned the following week with a haphazard slab of fired clay from offshore, which he assured everyone could withstand Zuko’s antics. _(“Hey!” Zuko shouted, but was ignored.)_ The crew argued amongst themselves over who would get the dubious honour of taking upon additional chores - a matter settled by Lieutenant Jee cracking his knuckles viciously and assigning it to Isao and Ryung. 

“Really?” Isao whined.

Lieutenant Jee shrugged. “You’ve been sloppy with your paperwork recently. Maybe this will give you an incentive to be better.”

The two combined their pitifully small brains and dragged it, screeching, across the floor. Lieutenant Jee shouted at them for damaging the board and they paused to shrug at their officer, then resumed positioning it against the wall. Zuko tried ignoring them for all of three minutes, whereupon he finally caved.

“That’s _not_ where you should be putting it!” he insisted loudly, forcing himself between the board and the wall. “If you idiots put it here then my papers are within range of food splatters!”

Under Zuko’s careful direction, they hammered the board into the wall and strung up his papers. It looked like an official board, Zuko had to admit. Like something Admiral Zhao might have in his office, only made out of a proper material and not cheap Earth Kingdom clay that Lieutenant Jee bought using his personal pay.

They stood back to admire their work, reluctantly satisfied. The others gathered around to see how the project ended, by now having gathered quite a crowd.

“Pretty good,” Lieutenant Jee said.

“Excellent indeed,” Uncle smiled.

“You didn’t even do anything,” Ryung sighed.

“The joys of command, dear crewman. You do all the work and I get all the credit.”

Ryung only sighed more heavily.

The budgeting board became A Thing after Jee bought it and officially made it part of the ship’s stores, but to Zuko it only became A Thing when he first cried over the damn thing. Food is expensive. Uniforms are expensive. Fuel and medicine and equipment and all the other miscellaneous items required for running a ship are also, you guessed it, _expensive._ Zuko honestly thought he had lost his mind the day he found himself sitting on the floor in front of it begging for mercy over the cost of a damn _cooking spoon._

Uncle helped him quietly off the floor and told him that the issue would be resolved. Zuko had gestured wildly towards the budgeting board and made a series of noises best described as a dying scorpion-armadillo. He may have cried some more. The details are fuzzy. In the end, Iroh held him tightly and said, firmly, that he would _make_ the problem go away. Then he sent Zuko to listen to Ryung play the tsungi horn, and Uncle went to Lieutenant Jee. The pair came back with brand new cooking equipment, two month’s cushioning for the budget, and a determined set to their jaws that Zuko still doesn’t know what to make of.

Come to to think of it, he hasn’t seen Uncle’s crown for a while.

Being the commander of a ship is a lot less impressive than it sounded when he was listening to the admirals in the War Room. They made themselves sound essential and noble and esteemed, like they were somehow above the conflict but paradoxically the first in the line of fire.

“Our lives are at stake,” they used to insist. “The Fire Navy would be nothing without us.”

Maybe that was true for the admirals and Zuko is just too young and dumb to understand. But mostly, he thinks leadership is just a whole bunch of paperwork. When something goes wrong, the crewman say _well why don’t you fix this Zuko,_ except Zuko _can’t_ fix this because if he does then he has to fill out two different forms to sign off on it, except those forms can’t be actioned without repairs to the other broken part that he’s been pretending doesn’t exist because they don’t have the money, and if Zuko starts thinking about money then he has to think about how to politely beg his father for some, or steal, or something-

Leadership is hard. When Zuko expressed this to Lieutenant Jee, the older man looked at him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Welcome to my world,” he sighed deeply. “All of the blame and none of the credit.”

That sounded about right. In the early days Zuko just yelled and hoped for the best, because that was what father did only in a lower voice and with a lot more fear-inspiring authority. Zuko copied his father as much as he could, down to the way he sat and the way he pinned people with such a flat stare that it always felt like he could see right through you. He got Zuko to confess many a misdeed that way. _I’m sorry I skipped training, father. I’m sorry I talked to mother. I’m sorry I helped Azula._ Then Uncle politely pulled Zuko aside- back in the days when he was still Iroh and not Uncle, not yet- and told him that if he wanted to be thrown overboard in a mutiny, then he was right on track. If not, maybe don’t impersonate your widely despised father.

The hostile glares of the crew assured Zuko that Iroh was right. He apologised to them later. Now things are fine and Zuko isn’t trying to act like Ozai, only the leader of the ship and the resident princeling. As much as one can still be a prince without a title, or a homeland, or a crown.

Zuko could live without the palace. He could live without the fancy food and clothes. He _definitely_ doesn’t miss the training and the constantly strained muscles, because Teacher Jiang would never take no for an answer when Zuko said that the next set of katas were too advanced, that it would take too much from him. But he misses some things like an aching tooth. The stall by the palace gates that sold candied cherry blossoms in spring, the baby turtleducks that always snuggled up to his hands, the way the servants would always gossip when they thought he couldn’t hear and would accidentally spill the most incredible secrets.

His sister. He misses his sister. Father told him not to think about her – that as the younger, unremarkable child, she has no business occupying his mind. She isn’t worthy of attention. But father doesn’t trust Zuko anymore. Maybe he decided to give Azula a second chance, after all.

It worries him. Azula was born with a weaker flame than Zuko’s. She is all sharp corners and slanted smiles, and some days he thinks no one will ever truly believe him when he tells them how cunning Azula is. All they can see is how she was born with a flame that burned a dull, average red, rather than Zuko’s own white. Zuko loves her. He has faith in her. But he wonders if she can withstand all the additional training he went through, should father resume trying to force her into becoming a prodigy. Azula was never bad at bending, but there is a difference between being a good bender and being born a prodigy. Sometimes Zuko questions if his father understands that you cannot force someone to become one. It’s just something that happens. No amount of screaming or training will make magically make Azula progress ten years in prowess. It’s not possible. What concerns Zuko even _more_ is that Azula seems to think it is. She always hung onto father’s every word. He told her it was her fault for not being good enough. That if she just tried harder then she would be a prodigy like Zuko.

Everyone knew that Zuko wasn’t the child Ozai wanted. He was strong in bending but lacked ruthlessness. He preferred playing with the stray animals that wandered into the palace to focusing on his lessons. Father killing the animals didn’t make Zuko focus harder. It just made him afraid.

Zuko was intended as a test run. Ozai wanted to see what kind of children his alliance with Ursa could produce. When Zuko threw his first sparks and stunned the court, Ozai immediately began trying for another child – their fate to be determined by their bending. Heir, or spare. The second child himself, Ozai believed that the bloodline would show through stronger the second time. He was not content with the son he already had. He wanted someone even stronger. The perfect future weapon, loyal first and foremost to their father. But Azula’s sparks were red. Strong, but an average and dull colour. Ozai failed. Just as easily as he dismissed Zuko, he returned to him.

“You will train with private teachers from now on,” he said. It wasn’t an offer. It was an expectation. Zuko tried his hardest to meet those expectations, right until he was banished.

“I’ll take good care of your crown while you’re gone,” Azula reassured him before he left, smiling sweetly. There was a glimmer of _something_ in her eyes that told him she may not be entirely sincere.

Zuko nearly opened his mouth to tell her that just because he was going away didn’t mean he had lost his status as crown prince, but then a terrible pain lanced through his head, just behind his eye. He curled his face into his hand and struggled not to cry while Azula’s smile slowly slipped off her face. Zuko breathed shallowly through his nose while Azula stood in silence. When he looked up again, episode over, she was gone. He honestly doesn’t know what else he expected.

Zuko finishes tying the ropes and heads to the observation deck. Lieutenant Jee isn’t there - sleeping, maybe, they’ve all been working at odd hours of the night to fix various leaks - which means Zuko is alone. He kneels on the floor and goes through his breathing exercises. Being on the sea gave him a nausea he still cannot shake, even after two years. Lieutenant Jee says he’s a hopeless landlubber. Uncle says it’s probably in his mind, with a sad expression Zuko feels uncomfortable looking at. The rest of the crew just think it’s hilarious that Zuko still gets seasick, and like to taunt him in poor weather.

Jerks.

Zuko is honestly sick of the ocean, and of not being able to see through the water. He longs for land. He wants to be able to stand on his feet without worrying that any moment he will be catapulted into action by a thoughtless wave crashing into the hull, or a surprise breakdown of their engine.

He's tired. Of course he is. It's been two years of nothing. No letters from father- exchanged over his head and going instead to Lieutenant Jee, who only shakes his head firmly when Zuko asks and calls the letters _no good._ Zuko thought they would end the exile quickly. It was only a matter of time, he told himself firmly. Father couldn't keep him away forever. Zuko would find the perfect way to break the influence of the rumours over father's mind, and Zuko could return home and be welcomed.

Zuko thinks fleetingly to a line from a poem his mother once forced him to read. _I bow my head and think of home._ It was by a famous poet whose name he has now forgotten, but when he looks into the sinking depths of the ocean he thinks he finally understands the poem's meaning. Zuko is homesick. The moon glinting off the waves at night remind him of the flash of his mother's hair ornaments as she smiled and waved him towards her.

Now there is no mother. There is no home. Only the stupid sun that burns at all hours of the day, and an unending list of chores. He feels stuck. Trapped in this funny little life of his, the same existence day in and out. There are no expectations of him, which also means _there are no expectations of him._ Everyone is just waiting for the moment he throws the towel in and returns to father. They think he is wasting his time - like a little pet who could leave at any time but won’t.

Father told him not to return until he learned his place. There were no other instructions. Zuko touches the edge of his scar and thinks, faintly, that his place is below Ozai. Nothing else matters to his father. Zuko was a threat, so Ozai removed him. Azula stayed because no one has ever looked twice at her.

Uncle knocks on the door. “You are needed below,” he says, stroking his beard with the kind of studied casualness Zuko has come to fear. “There has been a, uh, _minor_ problem with the maps and the water.”

“I thought we waterproofed them,” Zuko groans as he clambers to his feet. “We can’t keep losing maps like this! They’re _expensive_!”

 _“_ Indeed they are,” Uncle hums, and Zuko knows he is thinking disapprovingly to all the varied maps Zuko has bought in the past, most of them second-hand scraps from retired sailors.

What is Zuko supposed to do? Their maps keep getting damaged. Water, fire. One particularly profound incident with the boiler room. There’s no point in buying good maps when it feels like the crew deliberately finds ways to destroy them, sometimes. He’s _watched_ Uncle drink tea with his back calmly turned as they loudly danced over the maps. Maybe it’s a conspiracy to piss Zuko off. He wouldn’t be surprised. No sailor is ever above petty revenge, and especially not Akane when she feels deprived of her share of coffee.

Zuko silently vows to find whoever damaged the maps this time and throw all their socks in the ocean, then retrieve them and stuff them inside said person’s pillowcase. Enjoy wet socks and a wet pillow, _traitor._

Uncle keeps telling Zuko that as the commanding officer, he is supposed to be above such vengeances.

“In the army, you can joke with your fellow officers,” Uncle advised sagely. “But never those above or below you. It is not good for your image as a leader, Prince Zuko.”

Zuko laughed when Uncle told him that. He laughed _hard._ The only thing that has made the past two years tolerable is the ever-escalating prank war between everyone on board, and Uncle can pry it from his cold dead hands. He isn’t their commander. Not really. He’s just the prince who was stupid enough to commit treason in front of the entire War Council, and now everyone is suffering for it.

He didn’t mean to commit treason. Really. It was all a misunderstanding that spiralled out of control, ending with his father’s thunderous voice. Those stupid rumours hadn’t helped.

Ozai didn’t challenge Zuko to an Agni Kai. There was no need. Zuko’s actions were evidence enough for the court, even without an honour duel. His intentions were clear. Zuko was put on the most neglected ship they could find and the court merely sat back and watched. Zuko hoped that if father had time to think things through, if he gave Zuko the chance to explain, then the decree would be reversed. But they gave him no time. Zuko was gone before the sun could cool on Ozai’s anger.

He heard some of the crew whispering when he first arrived. They think that his scar comes from secret battle - maybe a private Agni Kai, they mused - or an incident just before his exile. A training accident? Carelessness with his own fire? Or perhaps a more permanent expression of Ozai’s disapproval.

Zuko doesn’t like thinking about his scar. It’s _there,_ of course. He can never be rid of it. He sees it in the reflection of his spoon, the water, the steel walls of the ship. But he doesn’t like thinking about how he got it. If it were an Agni Kai, he would admit his failure like a true prince. But it wasn’t. He didn’t. Ozai hadn’t even _told_ him he was displeased before he reached out and burned Zuko.

It doesn’t matter anymore. Zuko follows Uncle down to where the crew are boldly pretending that nothing is wrong and that no maps are damaged, despite the clear destruction laying behind them. Zuko's maps lay dripping on the floor. Isao carefully shuffles to cover the sight.

Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose. “Who did this?”

“It was my responsibility, sir,” Lieutenant Jee declares loudly, standing for once at perfect military attention. Jee always had a strange sense of humour. “I take full blame.”

The crew stifle their laughter. Ryung snorts loudly then pretends otherwise. They look from Jee to the ocean and laugh again. Zuko pinches at the flesh between his thumb and forefinger. They are making fun of him. He can feel it. 

“Just-” Zuko waves his hands. “I don’t _care_ that you were in charge, okay, I just want to know _who did it._ You should have stopped them! That's your _job._ "

The crew bristles. Zuko was only trying to reprimand them for ruining yet another map, but he watches a silent wave ripple through them. Suddenly they seem more angry than amused. Zuko doesn't understand why. They were the ones making fun of him and destroying his maps. They have no right to act like he said something wrong. 

Lieutenant Jee doesn’t move. “I was in the officer in charge, so I will handle this.”

Zuko narrows his eyes. He looks uneasily between Lieutenant Jee and the crew. Lieutenant Jee would usually take any chance to throw his crew under Zuko’s raging komodo-rhino path, then sit back and laugh at their anguish. Zuko assumed that his sudden refusal to name names was a joke - a mocking imitation of military protocol. But the crew seem tense. Their eyes look straight ahead rather than wandering lazily around the deck. Akane is the only one who meets his gaze, eyes defiant and body deliberately relaxed. What are they expecting? An attack?

Fine. If Lieutenant Jee suddenly wants to pretend that this is still a proper Fire Navy ship, then Zuko will indulge him.

“Unacceptable, Lieutenant. I expect you to retain tighter control of your crew. This cannot happen again.”

Lieutenant Jee’s expression remains unchanged. His hand twitches by his side. The crew, still standing towards the back, tense further. Uncle sighs in familiar disappointment and steps forward to intervene.

“Prince Zuko, I assure you that this was an unavoidable accident. It was down to ill-timing and the ocean’s whims. No man can control the waves. And Lieutenant Jee-” Uncle turns to him solemnly, straightening his back. “I apologise for my nephew. He has not mastered command yet.”

“Understood, sir,” Lieutenant Jee responds stiffly.

Zuko gets the sense that it is very much Not Fine, and looks to the ocean instead of handling the situation further. Uncle is managing. He will recover the maps and scold the crew in his _‘I am disappointed in you but only because I know you are better than this’_ voice, and smooth things out between Zuko and Lieutenant Jee. He always does. So Zuko just- checks out mentally. Watches the birds. Listens to the perpetual creaking of the ship and wonders when he will stop making mistakes every time he talks to the crew as their commander.

Father told him he was born to rule. He would lead the Fire Nation well after Ozai’s death, and continue his father’s legacy. Zuko was born with white flames. That had to _mean_ something. Father waited for Azula’s flames to manifest then discarded her in disappointment when she wasn’t strong enough. Father entrusted Zuko with the position of heir and assigned him private tutors and long training sessions. Everyone called Zuko a prodigy. Father always said that respect is not given or earned. It is demanded.

When Zuko relaxes around the crew, they joke with him and do things like helping him set up the budgeting board and running numbers. Only when he tries acting as their commander do things fall apart. He can see it in their eyes. In those moments, Zuko turns from teenaged exile to dangerous progeny of the Firelord. They watch him train with wary expressions. Zuko limited himself to training only at night, when everyone else was asleep. He doesn’t like seeing their fear. But he needs them to take him seriously as a commander - which means occasionally enforcing his position. They turn sour and resentful before him, like rotting fruit. Bruising at the lightest touch and exploding outwards.

People in the palace always treated him as an extension of Ozai. They were one and the same; interchangeable. Until the ministers started taking a personal interest in him. Zuko’s crew are fine with him, joking and teasing, right until they are reminded of his status. They share the opinion of those in the palace. Zuko is only another limb of the Firelord. He may be exiled and out of favour for the moment, but everyone knows Ozai will take him back eventually.

Uncle places his hand on Zuko’s shoulder.

“I suggest returning to your room,” he says quietly. “Until the crew have had a chance to settle.”

It isn’t a suggestion at all. Not really. Zuko listens for the underlying steel and brushes off Uncle’s hand. He doesn’t need more people _pretending_ to be on his side. There was enough in the palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don’t know if anyone wanted an analysis of leadership dynamics and administrative problems on a ship lmao but that’s what you’ve got so far! i’m kind of testing out a new writing style (i.e much less formal than i usually write and with 200% more dialogue) and i thought this would be a fun, rambling type of introduction that is completely not Zuko ignoring all his emotions. nope. not at all.  
> you’ll probably be able to see the difference between this style and my main one when i start blending my pre-drafted scenes in with this lol.
> 
> i realised towards the second chapter that this contains a lot of similarity in parts (by accident lol) to parts of "Cheating at Pai Sho" by MuffinLance, so check that out if you haven't already!
> 
> again, the backstory for this fic will make more sense over the next chapter or two as i drip-feed the full story to you guys. you won't be left in the dark for long!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes, Zuko thinks that he should have thrown caution out the window and asked Azula anyway. By the time that father trusted him enough to let him roam freely through the palace, asking Azula was too hard. It was like sitting next to a stranger with a familiar face. Whatever she answered to his question would have been a lie, just to hurt him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got impatient waiting to publish this chapter since i had it ready ages ago so here you are!! earlier than i had planned :)

The crew are livelier in the morning. Akane nods to him when he enters, engaged as she is in conversation with their engineer Shuang. The two women have always gotten along well, ever since they boarded the ship. Everyone knows that Akane is interested in engineering, but she insists that it’s too late for her to learn a new job. Shuang quietly disagrees, but never pushes in front of Akane. They all treat Akane as Shuang’s apprentice anyway.

Akane nodding to him is a good sign. The tension in the room slowly seeps away. Zuko knows he messed up. The crew won’t forgive him that easily. Still, Akane is the anger thermometer of the crew – if she is fine with him, then the rest are fine. If Akane is angry with him, then Zuko may as well go dock at the nearest port and lay down into the woods to die.

Things could always be worse. He tries reminding himself of this when the crew refuse to engage him in conversation. It feels a lot like the palace – everyone treating him as someone _other,_ an invisible barrier separating him from the normal populace. Zuko was good at bending. He always has been. He thought it a point of pride when he was younger, since it was the only thing his teachers ever complimented him for. Now it hangs over him like a death sentence. Father took note of Zuko only for his bending, and now the whole world takes note of Zuko only for his relation to Ozai. He knows the crew see him for himself, but all it takes is one moment of anger for them to resume treating him as Ozai 2.0. It’s disheartening.

Zuko wishes he could just be himself. But he cannot. The world demands otherwise.

Joben, a firebending former soldier that now generally handles laundry duties in lieu of anything important, slides him a plate of food. His eyes are not forgiving, nor are they angry. Neutrality. It’s the greatest blessing you can bestow someone on a ship where everyone constantly takes sides. You can win a fight without people supporting you, but you cannot win if everyone is against you. The distinction was made clear when Zuko first arrived.

Zuko picks up his chopsticks and clicks them once before eating. He likes the sound – metal striking against metal. It’s a nervous habit of his. Sometimes Zuko carries around his chopsticks in his pocket just to pull them out at random when the stress starts to tower over him. Uncle doesn’t understand most things about Zuko, but he doesn’t condemn. Zuko is always grateful for that.

Once mess is over, Zuko carries his plates to the sink. They have a rotating roster. Shuang’s turn is today, but he has a feeling that she will use a favour to get out of it. She wanted additional time today to try and work out the problem with the ship’s controls before they continue sailing.

He heads upstairs. Isao nods as Zuko passes. There is no saluting on the ship unless they have an inspection from one of the many dubiously helpful officers that come across them, as the ship lacks a typical rank structure. Ozai wanted to throw Zuko off. Blur the lines, the rules, until he couldn’t make sense of left and right and begged for Ozai to let him return. He wants Zuko to feel disrespected and stranded, so that he can finally understand why he needs to remain loyal to Ozai.

Instead, Zuko just finds it almost funny. He responds to Lieutenant Jee the same way he does to Private Isao. Father spent all those years drilling into Zuko’s head that there is a natural order to the world, with the royal family on top and those outside the Fire Nation at the very bottom. Then father scooped out the guts of the structure and left only a hollow ship floating on the ocean. Zuko can fill it with whatever he wants.

Isao notices his hesitation. “Was there something you needed?”

“No.” Zuko shakes his head and shuffles awkwardly. “Nothing important.”

Isao waits. “You sure? Nothing you wanted to ask about yesterday? Just- You seem like you have something to say.”

Zuko scowls and folds his arms. Then he deflates. “… Did you really destroy the maps yesterday?”

Isao shrugs. He hauls the ropes higher on his shoulder.

“The ocean was strong,” he explains. “Stronger than us. The maps got ruined by the spray.”

Zuko has a sinking feeling that this was his fault. “It was an accident?”

“Yeah,” Isao confirms. He gestures around them. “I mean, we’ve definitely been destroying those awful maps you keep bringing onboard, but none of us would intentionally destroy the few good maps we have left. That’s why we laughed. Lieutenant Jee was taking the blame for the ocean.”

“Oh.” Zuko sits back, feeling very much like an asshole. No wonder the crew was mad when Zuko started yelling. Then a thought strikes him: “Wait, what do you mean my _awful maps?_ ”

“Oh would you look at that, I gotta go. I hear the general calling me-“

“ _Isao._ ”

There is a clear abundance of _nothing_ for Zuko to do. The chores have already been divvied up and mostly completed. The budgeting board is occupied by Lieutenant Jee, whom Zuko strongly wants to avoid today lest he stir up another fight by accident. Isao, Ryung, and Joben are on the deck and Zuko cannot decide if they are merely wasting time or actually working. Something tells him that asking them outright would lead to further confrontation.

Zuko doesn’t want to go to his quarters again. The room is cramped and dark, and sparsely decorated. He managed to bring some of his things from home – training mats, sheets, a portrait of his mother. Seeing it all in a room so vastly different to the palace only makes him feel more homesick.

With every other location ruled out and the kitchen off-limits, Zuko decides to hide in the engine room. He pokes his head inside and waits to get yelled at for intruding. When nothing happens, he takes a tentative step inside and scans for any signs of their engineer Shuang. Zuko walks quickly behind the engine and seats himself on the floor. Normally, the room would be hot. Not as intense as the boiler room, but still uncomfortably warm even for a firebender. For now, they haven’t been sailing in days. The engine is still and Zuko doesn’t notice any change in temperature when he kneels beside it.

The events of yesterday afternoon flashes through his mind and he barely refrains from smacking himself. He could have taken any other approach – why did he start yelling the moment he felt like the crew were making fun? Uncle always tells him that there are multiple ways to skin a lion-catfish.

Footsteps press lightly into the steel foor. They halt next to Zuko and he refuses to raise his head.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Akane says, blatantly ignoring the fact that she also lacks authorisation to be in the engineering room. Akane has always been selective with facts. “C’mon, up you get.”

Zuko is forced to follow Akane from behind the engine. She doesn't immediately kick him out, instead generously allowing him to hover by the table. Akane picks up a pencil and begins sketching outlines for something Zuko's left eye distorts. He tilts his head for a better angle, but it still doesn't make sense. He follows the lines and finds neat, scrawling notes along the margins of the papers. Perhaps instructions from Shuang, who has duties elsewhere and has thus left the engine room temporarily unoccupied. 

Akane is an honest person. Sometimes too honest, the way that Zuko trips over his tongue and feels, rather than sees, the words leave his mouth wrong. Akane can tell him what happened yesterday.

"Isao says it was an accident," Zuko says into the silence. "With the maps, I mean. Why did everyone get so mad rather than just telling me that?"

“You called Jee a bad captain because a wave destroyed maps that _you_ left on the deck,” Akane explains bluntly. She sets down her pencil. “Does that make things simpler?"

It does. Zuko placed blame before anyone could explain. He was right, in a way. They _were_ joking initially. Then Zuko ruined it by treating the situation more seriously than it deserved, and insulted their captain. No wonder they clammed up. Everyone loves talking shit about their commanding officer, but no one likes it when another commander does it. 

He always had a talent for doing that. Putting people on the defensive. At first it was his fellow students, who talked loudly about parties that Zuko was never invited to, because no one wanted to invite the person making them look bad almost effortlessly. Then it was Azula, who clawed her way after him. Now it is the crew.

The door parts and Shuang steps inside, two cups of tea in her hands. She raises an eyebrow at the sight of Zuko but otherwise has no reaction. When Akane fills her in, she does not defend Zuko - nor does she comment. She only offers them the tea, like this is a party and not Akane verbally crushing Zuko's pride. 

“Look, I don’t blame you.” Akane faces him more fully. “You’re a kid. I don’t care what the Firelord says, you can’t be expected to act like an adult commander, and you _shouldn’t._ Just let Jee run things. Read your theatre scrolls and let yourself have some fun.”

“I don’t have any theatre scrolls,” Zuko protests. It’s a lie, and a weak one at that. Father would never have accepted it.

Akane almost smiles. She doesn’t offer her opinion on when Zuko will return, or even if she believes that he will. Part of him feels offended. The rest is grateful. The last thing he needs is more people assigning their expectations to him. It’s part of what got him banished in the first place.

Akane helps him to his feet and shoos him away, but she cannot chase the thoughts from his head.

He was allowed to train with Azula. When they were little. Father admired Azula’s determination to get what she wants at any cost. He thought that if she trained with Zuko and his teachers, then she would reveal hidden potential. Father wanted her to be a prodigy more than anything. He hated that it was his soft son.

They trained. And they trained. And trained some more. Ozai was not a patient man. When a Fire Sage suggested that Azula’s potential might appear under duress, Ozai took the words and stretched them as far as they could reach.

Zuko used to get nosebleeds from training. He would sit on the edge of his bed, wracked with tremors from his exhausted muscles, twisting pieces of cloth to stop the bleeding.

Azula got burns. Ozai thought that with enough pressure, Azula would be forced to overcome the unconscious block stopping her from bending to her full potential. It was all conjecture. There was no evidence that there was anything stopping Azula, really, except her innate ability. Ozai refused to accept that she was already an advanced bender, because she wasn’t the prodigy he desired. He burned Azula until she stopped thinking and started _reacting._ It still wasn’t enough. Her blind panic and forceful explosions didn’t yield the results Ozai wanted.

He separated them after that. Azula was permitted to continue bending, because it would be disgraceful for a princess of the Fire Nation to stop training. But Ozai didn’t care about her anymore. She had her chance to prove herself – and she failed. Zuko remembers her furious pleads with father, still nursing her burned arm. Ozai could not be moved. Where previously he was impressed by her extensive knowledge of military tactics and history, he began scorning her. She would never be a field commander with flames that weak. She was only proving that she spent more time studying than training. That was why she failed.

Azula firmly dismissed, Ozai turned his attention back to Zuko. Where once he could sit by the turtleduck pond and wander through the kitchens, he couldn’t go anywhere without first reporting to his father. Azula was confined to her quarter of the palace. Zuko was confined to his. Training was carried out in the courtyard where Ozai could observe and criticise. He took more and more privileges away from Zuko – no more theatre scrolls. No more dao swords. No more contact with anyone except his teachers and his father.

Mother protested. She fought to continue seeing Zuko, eyes burning with frustrated tears.

“I’ll find a way,” she whispered through the door. “I swear to you Zuko. I won’t give up.”

Then Lu Ten died in battle and Iroh crumbled, and Ozai sensed an opportunity. Zuko doesn’t know what happened. He never heard much from his quarters. All he does know is that one day mother was arguing with the guards to be let into Zuko’s chambers, and the next Firelord Azulon was dead. Mother never came around again. Zuko still doesn’t know if something happened, or if she simply gave up. The one time he ran into Azula in the hallways, he was tempted to ask. Everyone thought Azula invisible. She overheard things. She would have known. But they bowed their heads as they walked past and pretended that the other didn’t exist. There was too much to lose if father found out that they talked.

Sometimes, Zuko thinks that he should have thrown caution out the window and asked Azula anyway. By the time that father trusted him enough to let him roam freely through the palace, asking Azula was too hard. It was like sitting next to a stranger with a familiar face. She was bitingly sarcastic and bitter in a way she never was before, back when she still had hope. She was desperate to beat Zuko. Whatever she answered to his question would have been a lie, just to hurt him. He should have asked anyway. Azula understood people in a way that Zuko never quite managed, and she only ever used it against people. Never to help. Not anymore. 

The most hurtful people are those who use the truth against you. Azula would have tried to hurt him, no matter her answer, but there would have been a kernal of truth at its heart. Then maybe Zuko could have pieced the rest together.

He was a coward. Even now, he will not write to her. He fears that kernal of truth buried in the dirt.

When Zuko wasn’t training, he was to shadow Ozai throughout the day and learn his place.

“You are Crown Prince now,” Ozai informed him, eyes unreadable. “You must learn your future duties.”

Where Ozai went, Zuko followed. Sometimes he thought father might have been proud of him. Zuko was a good bender. He didn’t speak during meetings. He never argued back. Ozai was pleased with the future weapon he crafted – but also afraid. Keeping Zuko by his side had drawn attention from the ministers.

Zuko was strong. Maybe not the best at studying, maybe a little too foolish, a little too trusting, a little too outspoken at times, but he had something Azula never had. Ozai’s attention. The royal family of the Fire Nation has an extensive history of brother turning against brother, son turning against father. Zuko had never shown any tendencies towards patricide but– and here was the key– anybody could be pushed to anything. All it would take it is a nudge.

Ozai wasn’t happy when the rumours reached his ears.

Uncle calls Zuko aside for tea, ushering him inside the bridge. He pours an already-steeping pot of tea and sets the cup in front of him.

“Let us play pai sho,” Uncle smiles.

Zuko doesn’t like pai sho. It’s all strategy. Zuko has never been able to plan his moves in advance the way that Uncle tries encouraging. Zuko has always acted in the moment using his instincts, then waited for things to pan out. It’s a very poor tactic, all things considered, but no one ever cared if Zuko planned ahead. There were always people to do that for him. All Zuko had to do was train.

“If you do not learn strategy, Prince Zuko, then you will one day land in trouble from which you cannot escape,” Iroh advises as he studies the board.

He moves a single piece, which is never a good sign. Uncle is at his most confident when he is making no moves at all. It means he has laid a trap for Zuko and is content to watch it unfold without interference. His eyes remain on Zuko’s pieces as Zuko blindly sets one down. Uncle sighs and leaves it in position, even though Zuko knows from looking at the board that Uncle could take the piece. It would be his right.

“Why don’t you claim the piece?” Zuko asks. He gestures to the board. “I don’t need your pity. Just take it. I’m already losing.”

“You are not losing,” Iroh refutes. He takes a long sip from his tea then turns the handle a quarter-angle. “The game is not over until the last move has been played and the final piece taken. You will learn.”

Zuko still doesn’t like pai sho, but he likes listening to Iroh talk. Zuko never had contact with people in the palace. By the time he was able, no one wanted to. Zuko was the heir to the throne and raised as bloodthirsty as his father, the servants whispered. He would burn you to a crisp for a single mistake.

He had simply been secluded too long to correct the assumptions. Zuko moves his piece again and watches Iroh’s eyebrows shoot up, then a slow smile spread across his face.

“Well done, my boy. You have performed the rhododendron harmony.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Zuko protests as Iroh leans forward to study the board. “It was an accident. I wasn’t thinking.”

“An excellent move is still an excellent move, no matter the intention.” Iroh looks up. “I am not angry, Prince Zuko. I am proud. You saw an opportunity and seized it, regardless of whether your conscious mind determined the move."

Zuko mulls this over. Iroh’s praise prickles inside his chest. It doesn’t feel deserved. It can’t be that easy to make him proud – it had taken Zuko six years to earn even the slightest hint of approval from Ozai. Zuko is tricking Iroh, somehow. Making him think that he is better than he is. All Zuko is good for is bending; nothing else.

“I didn’t take all the pieces though,” Zuko says finally. He slumps in his chair and absently touches the handle of his teacup. “I only made a stupid harmony ring.”

Iroh spreads his hands. “And there is the point of pai sho. You see, this game is different to those of pure strategy, Prince Zuko. While it is possible to capture pieces, the aim is not to fight, but rather to create patterns. You work with your opponent to create something beautiful. It is not a battle.”

Zuko wonders what would have happened if he and Azula worked together. He quickly dismisses the thought. They were never permitted. There is no use lingering.

“Is that your favourite piece?” Zuko points to the board. “In pai sho, I mean. You use the white lotus a lot.”

Iroh chuckles. “Indeed. The white lotus converts harmony to disharmony, and back again. Many underestimate its importance.”

“Sounds complicated,” Zuko remarks dryly. He points to the red pieces. “I like those ones. They do what you expect. They don’t change all the time like the white lotus.”

“You are afraid of change.” Iroh pours Zuko more tea. “I cannot say I am surprised. You have been through much.”

“I deserved it.” Zuko only watches as his cup fills. “I made father distrust me.”

Iroh sighs. Somehow, that feels like a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're still in the set-up stage but things will start rolling soon! the standard chapter length will be about 3,000 words, just so you know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Azula smiled, then. Eyes bright like the child she should be. Ursa let her tea cool by her elbow and could not find the will to smile back. Azula was so jealous of Ty Lee’s acrobatics that she spent every afternoon in the garden mimicking her friend. Hard work brought them nearly to par. But that was not enough for Azula. She didn’t want to be good. She wanted to be the best."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm slowly introducing the crew! (there's a reason for the number, trust me)  
> \- Shuang the engineer  
> \- Joben the laundry guy  
> \- Isao the village idiot and generic sailor (i'm still researching, give it time)  
> \- Ryung, also a general crewman  
> \- Yuri the quartermaster  
> \- Haneul the navigator  
> \- Shin the cook (still to be introduced beyond a name-drop)  
> \- Akane the engineer apprentice/sailor

Zuko sits sprawled across the floor, watching Isao and Ryung bicker.

“You can’t teach him that,” Isao insists. “That’s a stupid method and it never works!”

“My mothers both say it does,” Ryung replied evenly, arms crossed. Then his eyes flickered to Zuko, waiting for a comment.

Zuko didn’t escape the mention of two mothers. It could mean a mother and a stepmother who shared similar thoughts, or maybe a biological and spiritual mother. It could be anything. But the tension in Ryung’s shoulders betrays the truth. Homosexuality has been outlawed in the Fire Nation since Azulon took the throne, and Ozai never repealed the laws. The military itself murmurs _don’t tell, don’t ask._ Ryung is risking his family.

“if your mothers say it works,” Zuko answers carefully. “Then surely it’s worth a try.”

Isao bellows woundedly while Ryung crows in victory and shoves Isao to the deck. Isao immediately groans that he has been grievously wounded, clutching dramatically at his side. Ryung only smirks. Then his eyes return to Zuko, who shifts uncomfortably. It’s not like he was trying to do a good deed or anything. It just didn’t make sense to fuss over such a small piece of information when everyone on the ship- Zuko included- has done and associated with acts far worse. Two women raising a son is far, far below Zuko’s list of priorities. At least they loved Ryung. Can Zuko say that of his own family?

Ryung and Isao turn their attention to the stubbornly jammed door. Ryung takes the oil and applies it to the hinges, while Isao works to slowly open the door. It’s a shame that the ship is metal. Sometimes Zuko envies the wooden hulls of the Water Tribe – nothing to rust or jam, leaving people trapped outside the laundry room.

“I want my clean clothes,” Zuko sighs.

“Don’t we all?” Ryung quips. He grunts as the door suddenly opens outwards, Isao cheekily waving.

They eagerly pile inside towards the siren call of their fresh clothes. Zuko has been wearing the same tunic for two days now. The door jammed on the moon’s day and the crew collectively decided to ignore it.

“It’ll sort itself,” Shuang advised wisely, chopsticks halfway to her mouth.

Which was easy for Shuang. She- it turned out- had more than enough clean washing for the week. Ryung did not. And after an unfortunate accident with a greasy table, neither did Zuko or Isao.

 _It was fine,_ Zuko decided. He didn’t need to fix the laundry door. He could live in the spare robes from the bottom of the closet. It was fine.

Joben openly laughed when Zuko walked into mess. That was when Zuko recruited Isao and Ryung to fix the damned door and resolve their situation. Zuko could live in dirty clothes if he needed. He wasn’t _that_ spoiled. But he hates people laughing at him. Itching inside him and crawling down his arms. He hates it. The mocking, condescending laughter at a boy-prince too stupid to know otherwise.

Zuko picks through the piled laundry and takes what could be his. There are mix-ups with the washing on occasion. Clothes being delivered to the wrong people. Joben swears up and down that he doesn’t do it deliberately, having handled most of the laundry on the ship since they departed, but Joben also doesn’t go out of his way to prevent the mixing from happening. The day Akane accidentally picked up Yuri’s clothes was the day that Zuko was convinced their ship would finally combust. Yuri is their quartermaster, and fiercely territorial of her belongings. She screamed her throat hoarse and stood on top of a table until a bemused Akane finally stripped to her undershirt and threw the tunic at Yuri.

“Just shut up and take it back!” Akane yelled.

“Thank you for your brave sacrifice,” Joben said solemnly. He bowed formally and the rest of the crew joined in.

Yuri scowled fiercely. She wove her newly recovered tunic like a red rag.

“I’m not that bad,” she protested. “I just don’t like people taking _my stuff!”_

On a ship where sharing equipment, clothes, and food is inevitable, Yuri’s life is full of struggle. Zuko would sympathise but he has stolen clothes too many times. If you see something in your size and it’s _clean,_ you take it before Shuang uses it as a cleaning rag.

If someone threw Yuri’s pillow into the ocean as an act of protest, then Zuko cannot say he was watching. And if Shin the cook found himself left with nothing but Yuri’s most obnoxiously coloured garments, her eyes gleaming defiantly, then Zuko also turned his eyes away. The crew have their own ways of sorting disagreements. It’s not for Zuko to interfere. No matter how funny it was to see Yuri digging through the piles of laundry with a dimly-lit lantern in the waning hours of the night, placing pink clothes into Shin's pile.

Yuri may hate sharing her items, but she loves revenge. It seems to be a common trait among his crew. Zuko often wonders how he has survived this long as their superior when all he does is invoke their wrath. Then again, it’s not too different to living with Azula.

It wasn’t that Azula was bad. Far from it. She was top of all her classes even without the natural affinity Zuko possessed. Azula worked hard. More than Zuko. She flung herself at every obstacle until it yielded.

“Ty Lee is better at handstands than me,” Azula frowned once, regaling Ursa with the day’s adventures while Ursa drank ginseng tea. “But she doesn’t practice much because she thinks she’s naturally good anyway, like Zuko. So I practiced until I got good then I burned Ty Lee’s hands so it would hurt when she tried. Now everyone thinks I’m better!”

Azula smiled, then. Eyes bright like the child she should be. Ursa let her tea cool by her elbow and could not find the will to smile back. Azula was so jealous of Ty Lee’s acrobatics that she spent every afternoon in the garden mimicking her friend. Hard work brought them nearly to par. But that was not enough for Azula. She didn’t want to be good. She wanted to be the best. She was even willing to sabotage her friend to ensure it.

Azula scared Ursa. Her own daughter.

She took classes with Zuko and they trained together in the courtyard. The lines were drawn from their early years. Azula dominated in the classroom. She had the memory, the concentration, and the organisation. She could recount the past hundred rulers without faltering and identify the key characteristics of the Xia dynasty, as well as the personal failings of the Firelord that led to the collapse. But her mind was especially sharp with strategy – games of cunning that require thinking ten steps ahead. Ursa caught Azula asleep with her head pillowed on an armful of military tactics scrolls more often than she had seen her in her own bed.

Zuko struggled. He dozed in class, fidgeted, stared out the window instead of at his paper and constantly questioned the teachers. If it were a matter of studies, Azula would win the competition for Ozai’s favour without question. But it was not. Nothing mattered in Ozai’s eyes except the qualities that could make his children into weapons.

He didn’t want to love his children. He wanted to use them. Ursa feared the day her children discovered the truth. It would hurt them more than their little competition and their resentment of each other-

So Ursa said nothing.

Bending came naturally to Zuko. He moved through the movements with ease, his white fire ever-present. No matter how hard she tried, Azula could not manifest a flame hotter than orange. She scowled at him from across the courtyard and stalked off to practice on her own.

Zuko was a fumbling, awkward creature constantly biting his own tongue. But he found solace in bending. The simple, repetitive nature of it. He told Ursa it felt a bit like swimming.

“It’s calming,” he smiled once. “I don’t have to try hard like I do in class. It’s just- easy.”

Azula overheard. Ursa honestly thought she would be left with only one child after that furious argument. She was forced to settle them down with her hands on their shoulders to prevent them from fleeing.

“Bending is not an indication of worth,” Ursa told them firmly. They looked at each other with eyes ready to roll. “I don’t care what you’ve heard. Listen to me. I love you both equally and so does your father. I don’t care who bends better.”

“If father loves us both equally and bending doesn’t matter-“ Azula tilted head curiously, eyes glittering with an emotion Ursa couldn’t place. “-Then why does father spend all his time with Zuko and not me?”

Ursa had no answer. Being part of their family meant nothing but pain for everyone involved. Azula had always understood where to hit until it hurts. Even with herself.

Zuko unfurls his theatre scroll then immediately holds it away from Isao’s grabby hands.

“No,” he snaps. “I’m _not_ loaning you this! The last time you took one of my scrolls, you gave it back covered in _gravy stains_.”

“That was an accident,” Isao whines, again. “I thought you were over that!”

Shuang interjects. “Don’t borrow items if you can’t take care of them.”

They both look over to Shuang, who stares at them expectantly. Isao slumps and releases the scroll to Zuko.

“Whatever. I didn’t need to read it anyway.”

“You _hate_ stories of the Blue Spirit. You said it’s-“

“The stupidest rendition of a ninja tale I’ve ever heard, I _know._ ” Isao leans back against the railing and sighs. “I stand by my opinion. The Blue Spirit is a terrible play and you should feel ashamed for reading it. I was just bored, y’know? There’s nothing to do here except work and play pai sho.”

“And drink tea,” Shuang calls.

Zuko rolls his eyes. “And drink tea. There’s way too much of that on this ship, thanks to Uncle.”

Isao’s brows furrow. He looks from Zuko to Shuang, who wriggles her hand and delivers a cutting _don’t you dare tell him_ glare. Zuko’s curiosity is piqued.

“Tell me what?”

“Nothing,” Isao says, a beat too slow. Zuko launches himself at Isao and wrestles him, Isao yelping loudly.

“Mercy, mercy!” Isao cries, then grunts as Zuko finally manages to tackle him to the floor. “ _Ow,_ you’re getting stronger, kid.”

Zuko grins in smug satisfaction. He sits atop Isao’s chest to prevent him from moving. Maybe not a very dignified move, but the officiating Shuang declares it highly serviceable for wrestling matches.

“Now what were you going to tell me?” Zuko presses. He digs his knees into Isao’s chest.

“You’re all bones,” Isao complains loudly, finally giving in. His head thuds against the deck. “Eat some more food kid.”

“ _Come on,_ what was it about the tea?”

Isao sighs. His eyes flicker to Shuang and back. “It’s just- you know the general started that to help you, right? The healers wanted you to drink this one medicinal blend, except you refused to drink it because nobody else drank tea.”

Zuko doesn’t remember that. He tells Isao as much, who doesn’t seem surprised.

“You were in a lot of pain,” Isao says quietly. He shifts on the floor and nearly dislodges Zuko, but he is quick to pin Isao again. “We weren’t allowed to bring healers onboard. That was a condition from the Firelord. But you had this terrible fever and you needed medicine, so Iroh started drinking the tea in front of you, and then made us all do it too, so then you thought of it as normal and finally drank your damned medicine.”

“If it was for my medicine,” Zuko puzzles. He lets Isao push him off this time, and they sit together on the floor. “Then why did everyone keep drinking tea?”

“Love,” Shuang supplies from a nearby crate. She raises her own cup as Zuko turns his eyes to her. “Iroh thought it would be good for your state of mind. Jasmine for calming. Ginseng for inflammation. There’s a reason he gives you different blends, you know.”

Zuko scowls reflexively but feels too confused to put effort into it. He knows Iroh cares for him. Logically, he knows. No one follows another person into banishment without a good reason. It just doesn’t make _sense._

“I was scarred way before I was banished,” he reminds the crew. “Why bother with medicine when the damage had already been done?”

“Injuries like yours take time to heal,” Shuang reminds in turn. She raises an eyebrow. “Can you really say you felt fully better by the time you were banished?”

Zuko falls silent. There is no reply that wouldn’t make Zuko, or his father, appear badly. There were only two months between his scarring and his banishment. Zuko thought that father would calm down. He thought that letting father burn him would make things _right_ again. But Ozai only grew more paranoid. Zuko wasn’t allowed to go to the healers. Ozai said that if Zuko were truly his son, then he would heal alone. Zuko tried smuggling ice into his room to cool the burn, or pieces of aloe vera to make cooling salves that a pitying maid whispered the procedure for, but Ozai always found out somehow. He stared down at Zuko the same way he had before the scarring and said nothing.

That was somehow worse. The silent disapproval. It made Zuko want to claw his way back to Ozai’s favour. Father didn’t have to do anything after that – Zuko began refusing treatment on his own. He wanted father to be proud. He wanted father to love him again. He needed it back.

Accepting medicine made Ozai angry. Leaving his room for anything except to train made Ozai angry. Then gradually, training made Ozai angry. Eating. Sleeping. Ozai began scolding Zuko for everything. Nothing was safe.

“You should be above this!” Ozai liked yelling. “You are my _son._ You should be proving your worth, not lazing around like your sister!”

Azula hated them both even more on those days. She would glare and glare and glare and refuse to say a single word to Zuko. He saw the way she would whisper to Mai and Ty Lee, the girls acting as a single person. Ty Lee would steal his blankets. Mai would pin knives above his bed. He never saw them do it, but there were no other possibilities.

He thinks they felt bad, towards the end. Guilty. But as Ozai’s temper grew increasingly volatile, so too did Azula’s. She accused him of stealing their father away. Of sabotaging her. Trying to make her look bad deliberately so that no one would take her seriously, so that she could never claim her seat in the War Room and finally study and train how she wanted. Azula said all kinds of things towards Zuko, but it wasn’t enough. She said horrible things to Mai and Ty Lee too. He caught her staring after them sometimes, like she felt bad for what she said. But she never apologised. That would be an unacceptable weakness.

Zuko learned to walk on eggshells around his father. He trod lightly though the hallways when he passed the War Room, or anywhere his father might be occupying. He changed his routine. He ate at odd hours and trained without fire to avoid drawing attention.

The rumours only grew worse. _He’s meeting with the ministers,_ people whispered. _That’s why no one has seen the prince. He’s_ preparing.

Then Azula came to him with a smile and a suggestion.

Zuko finally releases Isao and lays on the floor. The metal is cool against his back. He isn’t feverish – firebenders naturally run hot. But this feels too much. His body containing more than it naturally should.

The crew began drinking tea to help Zuko. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. Even on the days where Zuko is at his most prideful, his most arrogantly confident, the crew do nothing but gently bring him back down. They might glare and snap and deliver cutting remarks that strip him down to the bone, but none of them have ever attempted anything even resembling mutiny. Zuko is lucky. All things considered, Ozai picked a good crew for his son, whatever his intentions.

Zuko doesn’t know if Ozai paid them, or if Uncle did. No one shows loyalty without incentive, and Zuko has given his crew nothing but incentive in the opposite direction. He knows he has flaws. He knows his own temper. But he doesn’t know how to change. This is all he has ever known.

Someone walks onto deck then stops abruptly. He can hear the shuffling of feet.

“What is it?” he calls without looking. He knows he shouldn’t feel embarrassed of the crew treating him like a child throwing a tantrum over taking medicine, but the floor feels nice. It covers his shame.

The person clears their throat. “It’s Haneul. There’s a problem with the map.”

Zuko sits up immediately and locks eyes. Haneul is their navigator, unfortunately forced to make do with the various maps Zuko scouts or steals. Zuko often argues against having a navigator onboard.

“What’s the point?” he grumbled loudly. “We don’t have a destination.”

“Would you rather float endlessly in circles, lost on the sea?” Iroh arched an eyebrow over his teacup.

It was a winning point. Since then, Zuko has made it a point to consult with Haneul at least once a week.

“What’s the problem?” Zuko asks instead of acknowledging Isao and Shuang’s side glances.

Haneul sighs heavily. He gestures around them. “What _isn’t_ a problem? But to answer your question, the map has no idea where we are right now.”

Zuko stares blankly. “What do you mean? We just left that western port of the Earth Kingdom.”

“-Whose seas are not covered on the map,” Haneul inserts shamelessly. He pauses at Zuko’s expression and sighs. “Sir.”

Shuang wanders closer. She steps between the two and raises her hands.

“Worst case scenario?” she directs to Haneul, still warding off any potential conflicts.

Haneul shrugs. “We get horribly lost and die.”

They flinch. Isao recovers first.

“Or?” he questions hopefully.

Haneul scratches his chin then claps Isao’s shoulder. “ _Or_ we’ve accidentally sailed into Fire Nation waters and we all die anyway.”

“How is that something you say _cheerily?_ ” Isao cries. He sags underneath the weight of Haneul’s hand. “You can’t just say that.”

Shuang sighs heavily and drags Haneul away from Isao.

“Be sensitive,” she advises him, barely refraining from rolling her eyes. “Give us a third option.”

“… We could still be in Earth waters?” Haneul contributes hesitantly. “Gotta tell you. I’m not confident about that one.”

“ _Ugh.”_ Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose and projects his thoughts as far as he can. “You make it sound like our chances of dying are 80/10.”

“They kind of are,” Haneul admits. Isao finally tackles him to the floor while Shuang places a hand over her face.

“He’s exaggerating,” Shaung explains tonelessly. Her glare at Haneul is scathing. “Look, sir, chances are we’ve just wandered a little off course from last week’s fog. It’ll sort itself.”

Her word is gospel on the ship - she is the first to mediate in a fight between the crew, and wise despite spending all her time in the engineering room. Shuang is never wrong, according to the proud crew. 

.... She was wrong about the laundry door. It would soon be discovered that she was equally, horribly wrong about their course fixing itself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am back and still very excited. i'm at the point where i'm writing from now on rather than just smashing my pre-assembled scenes together so that will be fun.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t have to do this,” Uncle rumbles. His voice is weary. “Zuko. We have enjoyed ourselves these years, yes? We do not have to play their game. Think of Pai Sho. Rather than aiming for victory, we can focus on the journey. Creating something beautiful.”
> 
> “You don’t understand,” Zuko says, watching his sister’s ship depart. “I have to go back. There’s nowhere else for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: scarring, harm to children, abuse
> 
> i continue to love the crew and will insert them into scenes at every possible opportunity.

The ship lurches. Zuko’s string of curses lasts longer than the motion, but he grabs onto the railings anyway and forces himself along the hallway as the floor surges beneath him. He hears the crew following – Haneul rushing towards the navigation room, while Shuang drags Isao along. None are joking anymore. Their faces are dark and serious. The group peels off into separate directions and Zuko alone stumbles onto deck.

Uncle’s wary face greets him. Iroh’s eyes move pointedly between Zuko and the open sea, his mouth a grim line. Zuko pauses to observe. The way the deck curves makes it so that no one can see him unless he moves further into the open. Looking at the ship towering above them, Zuko wishes fervently that he could hide his whole life.

“Who is it?” Zuko asks Uncle, but inside he already knows.

Uncle sighs deeply. “I am afraid that Lieutenant Zhao was arrived for a visit. Or perhaps I should say that we travelled to him.”

Fire Nation waters after all. Zuko closes his eyes.

“There’s a nautical exclusion zone of twenty miles,” Haneul murmurs from the corner of his mouth. His expression remains carefully neutral. “By my estimate, we should be just on top of that. He can’t do anything to you, Prince Zuko.”

Zuko looks away. Haneul was blasé about the threat, earlier. For him now to be comforting Zuko means that Haneul is truly worried. Everyone knows that Zhao is selective with facts. If they have sailed even one mile too close, then Zhao has authority to execute them for defying terms of banishment.

Yuri runs onto deck and immediately halts. Her mouth opens then closes and her hands clench furiously. Her head whips to where Haneul is standing, who shrugs hopelessly. Yuri nearly snarls.

“We can’t let him come aboard!” she cries. “We _can’t!_ ”

Iroh sighs. “Unfortunately, we have very little choice in the matter. Yuri, please fetch Lieutenant Jee.”

Yuri grinds her teeth. Zuko almost pities her. Eventually Yuri bows stiffly and disappears to fetch Jee, leaving behind an awkward tension.

She used to work under Lieutenant Zhao. Yuri won’t tell them what happened. Each of them were demoted and banished alongside Zuko for a reason – the stories aren’t all pretty. All they know is that no one hates Zhao more than Yuri. It cannot be easy to contain herself.

“I’ll keep Yuri below deck,” Haneul volunteers without anyone asking. He shifts. “I don’t want to see her upset.”

Zuko nods his assent. Yuri returns, stomping up the stairs with Lieutenant Jee in tow. His expression is worn. He surveys the anchored ship with nothing more than familiar dismay.

“Let’s go greet the demon,” Jee says.

Zuko slants his eyes to Uncle but Iroh does not say a word. He only stares outwards with a heavy heart.

“Lieutenant Zhao,” Jee greets stiffly.

“It’s Admiral now, actually.” Zhao’s smile is predatory.

Lieutenant Jee carefully does not arch an eyebrow or give any outward indication of his displeasure. Jee is professional. Zhao is not.

“You like the uniform?” Zhao half-turns to show off. “They commissioned it as fast as possible, just for me.”

Lieutenant Jee very kindly does not spit on Zhao, whose eyes turn to Iroh and Zuko.

“Ah! General Iroh. Always an honour.” Zhao bows.

Iroh bows back, polite as ever, then waits for Zhao to turn to Zuko. It doesn’t come. Zhao straightens and his eyes skip right over Zuko.

Blatant disrespect. Zuko is the commander of the vessel. Zhao should have bowed to him _first._ Uncle’s hand latches onto his shoulder and Lieutenant Jee suddenly moves close to his side, each restraining him in their own way. Zuko breathes shallowly through his nose.

People used to respect him. Everyone wanted Zuko on their side – the prodigy princeling. Now he is just the outcast no one wants. He burned too bright. His fire turned against him. Zuko outshone his family, and he was punished for the sin.

What is worse is that Zuko knows Zhao would accept him in a heartbeat if Ozai showed any inclination of wanting his son’s return. Everyone would. No one cares about Zuko, really. Only how they can use him. It’s why he was banished. It’s why he was scarred. It’s why the rumour spread that started this whole mess.

“Admiral Zhao,” Zuko returns through gritted teeth. “A pleasure.”

Zhao’s lip curls. His smile is more of a snarl. For reasons unknown, he has always hated Zuko. The only pleasure of this visit is that he hates seeing Zuko as much as everyone else hates seeing him.

Lieutenant Jee intervenes. “Admiral,” he forces. “I assume you are here for an inspection?”

“Of course.” Zhao switches his focus to Jee. “You _are_ rather close to Fire Nation waters, after all. I had to be sure that the prince wasn’t violating his terms of banishment.”

Zhao’s smile is suspiciously genuine at that. He hides it well, but Zuko was raised with Azula. The twitch of Uncle’s hand reveals everyone noticed. Shin the cook steps forward to block Zuko’s view of Zhao’s smug expression. He shakes his head slightly, mouthing a warning.

Uncle and Lieutenant Jee lead Zhao through the inspection. They disappear below deck while Zuko remains above, standing with Shin and Haneul – who each abandoned their positions to watch the disaster on deck.

“I double-checked our coordinates.” Haneul shields his face from the sun and squints towards Zuko. “Don’t worry. Zhao has nothing on us.”

“I thought you were keeping Yuri below deck.” Zuko doesn’t really care about anything at the moment. He _does_ care about the crew, however.

Haneul is quiet for a moment. “She wanted space,” he explains eventually. “There was nothing I could do for her. She’s in the engine room with Shuang to keep an eye on her. I figured I could at least check the coordinates again. Be helpful, somehow.”

Shin raises his hand for a fist bump. Haneul looks at him askance, then begrudgingly grants it. Shin is funny that way. He wasn’t assigned cooking duty – he took it on himself. Their early meals were nothing but blackened pans of rice before Shin finally learned. He gets ideas into his head then refuses to leave them behind. One of those ideas was getting fist bumps from everyone on the ship.

Zuko finally sits on the deck. He buries his face in his hands. His banishment is something he can never truly leave behind. Something always comes along to remind him that he is considered a traitor to the nation – a disloyal son. Someone lacking in honour. He wishes that he was never scarred and he wishes he was never stupid enough to get himself banished. Then people like Zhao wouldn’t be able to inspect his ship at random and threaten to have him executed. Zuko wouldn’t be so scared all the time.

Zhao could ruin him. He could lie and say that Zuko wasn’t within the exclusion zone – that he sailed properly into Fire Nation waters. One word and Zuko’s life would be over.

It has never mattered what Zuko said. No one ever cared for his explanations. They decide his fate. Zuko only follows.

Uncle and Lieutenant Jee manage to pacify Zhao enough to get him off the ship. He departs with more thinly veiled threats and an ocean of smugness. Zuko cannot feel relieved. It is only a matter of time before they sail too close or do something else to give Zhao excuse to return. He will bring Zuko down, somehow. There is no one on Zuko's side. If it isn't Zhao, then it will be someone else. 

"You are fortunate that your crew halted in time," Zhao smiles smarmily before he leaves. Zuko refuses to call him an admiral, even in his own head. "Take care before it happens again. We wouldn't want you defying your father, after all. We all know how that ended last time."

The crew stand on deck together, each wishing they could do something. Without discussion, they fire up the ship and begin forcing it to the top speed. The Fire Nation and its territories are not home for them. Not anymore.

Once they are finally far enough away from Fire Nation waters to feel at ease, the crew congregates on the deck to curse out Zhao. Zuko seats himself awkwardly. Two years, and this is the first time has been invited to a crew gathering outside of music night – and even that was organised Uncle.

The crew take turns making the lantern before them flare. Some with bending, others with gentle puffs of air into the lantern. They can’t have a fire on ship. It would be dangerous. But here, the lantern serves almost the same purpose.

Yuri spits. “There’s a special place for Zhao in the afterlife.”

“He won’t even get there,” Ryung snorts. He leans forward. “Trust me. That one will become a hungry ghost, no question.”

“Hungry ghost?” Zuko questions. He looks around the circle. “What’s that?”

Isao laughs loudly and reaches over the table to pour Zuko another cup of steaming tea. “A hungry ghost is someone so greedy in life that they’re condemned to be a hungry ghost in death. My great-grandma saw one when she was young.”

“Bullshit,” Akane says bluntly, but does not argue the point when the circle erupts into protests.

“They’re real!” Isao insists, with Haneul wavering on the side of support and Shin giving a discrete thumbs up.

“I like the idea of him being a hungry ghost,” Yuri decides firmly. That settles everything. “I hope his hands shrink so he can’t ever reach for money in his greedy little heart.”

Zuko dreams of blades twirling in the night. Flashing steel and a gruesome spirit face.

Everybody wants things. Revenge, power, justice. But not everybody can gain those things. Zuko thinks of a particular merchant by the docks and the sword grips he has held onto for two years. You can’t always wait for permission. Sometimes you must seize things by yourself.

Zuko is not someone who can do that. But, he thinks, he would like to be.

There is a ship following them.

Zhao, they thought originally, until Yuri shook her hand and told them firmly that the bastard had no vessels like that under his command.

“Couldn’t that have changed?” Ryung asked. “He’s an admiral now. They could have given him more.”

“Not one like that.” Yuri pointed to the stern. “Look. That’s a model only royalty or senior military use.”

Yuri always knew more than a quartermaster should. There are days where Zuko questions if she was always a quartermaster, or if she was once in charge of something else. It wouldn’t be a surprise. None of them are in their original positions anymore.

With Zhao dismissed, their minds turned to any viable alternatives. No one had shown any interest in their ship during their two years of banishment. Only Zhao, and the occasional pirate.

Yuri’s comment about royalty sparked something in Zuko’s mind.

“Are we sure it isn’t royalty?” he asked, watching the ship trail after them. “There’s still one person it could be.”

The crew looked at each other. Uncle placed a hand on Zuko’s shoulder but didn’t offer his opinion. There was no need.

Haneul drew Zuko aside the day after to say that the same ship was sighted again. It disappears for a couple of hours then re-appears. Someone is following them and wants them to know it, but is also hiding to keep them on-guard. It’s the sort of mind game Azula would play. Zuko’s suspicions are only cemented.

What does she _want?_ Father said Zuko cannot return until he has learned his place, but father refuses Zuko’s letters and won’t write at all. He can’t know if Zuko is changed because he won’t _talk_ to Zuko. Has Azula been sent to test Zuko? To relay a message?

“We should stop,” Zuko thinks aloud.

Uncle blinks. Lieutenant Jee fully turns to face Zuko.

“And _why_ would we do that?” Lieutenant Jee asks. He raises a judging eyebrow.

Zuko shrugs. “She’s my sister. Maybe father sent her.”

“That is not an outcome we should welcome, Prince Zuko,” Uncle says finally. He and Jee exchange glances. “I am afraid it may not be what you are hoping for.”

Zuko ignores them. He walks to the railings and looks out over the ocean. If he strains his good eye, he can almost make out Azula’s ship. His vision got better in his right eye after the scarring. His hearing, too. Zuko doesn’t need a telescope to see the faint churning of the ocean in her wake.

Azula has her own motivations. Zuko knows that much. Her ambitions were always separate to that of the court’s. Her arrival is bad and good intertwining impossibly.

Under Zuko's orders, the crew reluctantly anchor and prepare for her arrival. Azula's ship inches forwards as if testing their patience. When it finally draws alongside them, Isao and Ryung both refuse to extend a board. It turns out not to matter. Azula's crew extend their own board then create a walkway through the crew for their princess. Azula finally surfaces - smirking proudly as ever, stepping lightly across the board. She brushes off invisible dirt once finally on Zuko's ship. 

"Hello brother," she greets. This isn't the young sister he left behind. Her eyes are sharp. "Hello Uncle. It's been far too long since we last met."

"There is a reason for that," Iroh rumbles. Akane steps forward but he motions her to halt.

Zuko tries to contain his nerves. Azula smiles innocently, her mere presence sending ripples of disruption. She isn't wearing her armour. Zuko wonders why. 

"I have a message from father," Azula declares boldly. She stands with her hands behind her back. A military posture through-and-through. She quirks an eyebrow. "I assume you would rather have this conversation in private?"

Uncle shakes his head. The crew mouth various words of protest, some less suitable for foreign ears than others.

"Yeah," Zuko says. "Let's go to navigation."

It's the only place he can think of that isn't easily overheard. He begins leading the way, Azula deliberately lingering on deck. The proud tilt of her head reminds far too many of the crew of Zuko when he first arrived. She makes taunting eye contact, then steps off after Zuko. 

There is a small table in navigation. Haneul installed it after one too many people invaded his space, telling them instead to play cards at the table. Now Zuko gestures towards it and takes his own seat. Azula moves with calculated deliberation. His nerves grate against each other as he waits for her to languidly seat. Finally, she folds her hands on the table. 

“Father has an offer.” Her lips are smiling but her eyes are empty. “It’s really rather simple, Zuzu. Have you heard of a spirit quest?”

Zuko has the sinking feeling that he is walking right into a trap, but his curiosity is piqued. He straightens in his chair.

“A spirit quest?”

“Yes.” Azula pauses to arch an eyebrow at the crew crowded by the door, each regarding Azula with suspicion. She waves sarcastically. “Accomplish something that proves your worth to father. Something impressive. Then give the credit to father and return having proved your loyalty as a prince of the nation.”

Zuko mulls this over. “All I need to do is pull something off?”

He ignores the protests of the crew. Azula’s smile sharpens.

“Of course, dear brother. Capturing the Avatar, invading Ba Sing Se. Anything on that level would suffice.”

The impossible. Father is demanding the impossible. Zuko nearly leaves the room just at that but a thought stops him. Surely it isn’t that difficult? As long as his feat is impressive for the Fire Nation and proves his loyalty, then he can return home. It doesn’t have to be impossible. Only if Zuko decides.

Azula can see him contemplating the offer.

“I’ll give you a period of one week to consider,” she says- not _kindly,_ but with a considerably gentler tone. “If my scouts see you on route to the Earth Kingdom, I will assume you have accepted father’s generous deal. Anything else will see you branded a traitor.”

Zuko nearly winces. He grips his teacup to avoid touching his scar. Azula is the sort who would notice the gesture and use it against him.

Her lips quirk. Carefully, she raises her hand in faux apology.

“I shouldn’t have used the word _branded._ My apologies, brother. I know how _sensitive_ you are to that.”

“You’re acting like you didn’t already know,” Zuko comments resentfully. He tries to swallow the emotion. It is his own fault that he was burned. “You’ll have my answer soon.”

“Good.” Azula smiles. She doesn’t incline her head even a fraction.

Zuko does, because he doesn’t have to be rude. Uncle drilled that lesson into his head. The two siblings rise on opposite sides of the table. Azula leaves first, the metal clanging beneath her footsteps. She ignores the hostile stares of the crew and exits as irreverently as she arrived. 

It looks like father has well and truly replaced him. If Zuko does not accept the deal, then Azula will supplant him. She will steal more and more of his life like a cuckoo in the nest. She was never satisfied with what she had. How could she? Zuko knows better than anyone how they were raised. Zuko was not the only one who suffered.

He doesn’t blame Azula for taking the opportunity. After all, it was Zuko who failed. If he didn’t want to lose everything to Azula then he should have been better. Still, watching Azula flaunt her newfound freedom hurts more than he expected. Zuko was confined to his quarters for years. Father distrusted him so deeply. Now, he trusts Azula enough to let her lead a mission on her own ship with her own crew.

Zuko relays the message to Uncle, whose face grows older during the explanation. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Uncle rumbles. His voice is weary. “ _Zuko._ We have enjoyed ourselves these years, yes? We do not have to play their game. Think of Pai Sho. Rather than aiming for victory, we can focus on the journey. Creating something beautiful.”

“You don’t understand,” Zuko says, watching his sister’s ship depart. “I _have_ to go back. There’s nowhere else for me.”

Zuko didn’t fight his father.

There were pervasive rumours spreading throughout the palace, insisting quietly that Zuko would grow to be twice as powerful as Ozai. The ministers murmur that he would make a powerful puppet. If they could replace Ozai with his prodigal son, he would become the perfect symbol for the new age of the Fire Nation. Strong. Male. Arguably the best bender in the nation.

Ozai didn’t like those rumours.

“You know I’m loyal, father,” Zuko assured him. “I would never betray you.”

Zuko spent most of his time following silently after his father and trying to evade his increasingly awful moods. As the rumours grew, so did his father’s temper. A storm collecting clouds with each passing day.

He thought his father believed him. Zuko had never disobeyed his father. He attended training. He practiced until he couldn’t stand. He made his father proud with his success and gave him something to talk to grandfather about, back when grandfather was still alive. Zuko honestly thought that the storm would blow over. It always did.

“Come with me to the pond,” Ozai said one day, after studying Zuko for a long hour with an unreadable expression. Zuko abandoned his books and climbed to his feet without protest.

“Don’t I have training?” he asked uneasily as they drew nearer to the ponds. “I don’t want to get in trouble with Master Cong.”

“You won’t.” Ozai didn’t look back. His expression was darkly serious, and Zuko stopped talking. “Now sit.”

Zuko looked around for somewhere to sit, thinking that father wouldn’t like it if he sat on the grass. He found a bench and waited for Ozai to reveal why they were there. Some sort of training exercise, he expected.

Ozai towered over him. Zuko’s heart thundered in his chest at his father’s terrible, flat expression.

“You’re mine,” Ozai said lowly. He leaned in so Zuko could hear him clearly, eyes dark as the depths of a lake. “You are my blood. I won’t allow anyone to take what is mine.”

Zuko’s too-trusting eyes turned upwards. Ozai placed his hand on his son’s face and watched the flesh melt.

 _No one will want you now,_ Ozai whispered. But that could have been a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trying to sort out the plot is giving me a headache. why do i always try to write multi-chaptered fics when i know i struggle with it? 
> 
> anyways you guys finally know what happened to get Zuko scarred! incase it wasn't clear since i dropped most of the info over four chapters, basically Zuko had too much potential. the court started thinking of putting him on the throne as a puppet. Ozai got word and started suspecting Zuko, then eventually burned him in the gardens so no one could make use of Zuko except Ozai, and also so that Zuko's self esteem would become so shitty that he felt his only option would be to stay with his father. later, he got banished. the reasons why will be explained soon. if any part of this chapter distressed you please take care! <3


End file.
